


Wild and Free

by gemjam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, Selkie Peter Hale, Selkie Stiles Stilinski, Selkies, Steter Week 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 10:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15386565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: Stiles was raised on land but he belongs in the sea. When a hunter takes his skin to stop him returning, Stiles can feel himself withering without his mate and the waves.-For Day 1 of Steter Week - promptcreature Stiles





	Wild and Free

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Topbun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topbun/profile) for looking this over for me and the Steter Network for answering all of my selkie questions. Hopefully I didn't screw up the mythology too badly.

_  
**All good things are wild and free**  
_

~

He only ever returns to the land at Beacon Hills to visit his dad. Peter warned him how dangerous it was. He never came to shore anymore. Peter was born to this life though and he’ll die out here beneath the waves. Stiles was raised mostly on land, an orphan seal adopted by a marine conservationist. He was three and clumsy and took off his skin in front of her with no shame or fear of what she’d think. Claudia Stilinski took it admirably well and took the young selkie home to her husband who agreed they should raise him as their own.

Claudia read a lot and she taught him as much of his heritage as she could. They would take him down to the cove, rocky and unsuitable for most people which meant it was private. She’d help him into his skin like any mother would dress their child and she and her husband would sit on the rocks and watch him swim like he was born to do.

By the time puberty hit, it was obvious he couldn’t fight his nature much longer. Most kids would be going away to college. This was just his own special version.

It was lonely at first, so far from the shore, and he wondered if he’d made the wrong decision. Then he met Peter. He was older, scars on his hide. Hunters, he said. They’d wiped out his whole family. Stiles was too young to know what killed his family, his _real_ family, but he felt drawn to Peter. They had no one else and so they protected each other. It went from companionship to love somewhere during that first year and Stiles knew that he’d found his mate.

He told his parents about it the next time he was on land. He always made sure to go once per season, the world changing so much between each visit, bare trees growing buds, life starting all over again. He wanted so desperately to introduce Peter to them, but nothing could convince him to come back to the land, not even this. He knew how much it meant to Stiles, how his worlds had to collide to make them both real, but he was too afraid. He stayed away from the shore and waited for Stiles in the waves, refusing to be prey again.

One winter, when Stiles returned to Beacon Hills, his mother was gone. She’d died of an illness she’d been hiding from Stiles because she wanted their brief reunions to be happy and she always thought she’d make it one more season. Stiles hated her for the deception, the chance to say goodbye ripped away from him, but he loved her for always wanting everything to be perfect for him, and for thinking her love for him could make her hold on.

He still returns to Beacon Hills four times a year with the changing seasons, but the home, the town, the world, is a little less bright without her in it. The house seems darker, shadows creeping ever longer regardless of the sun. His father is older and stiffer and Stiles worries it won’t be long until he has nothing to come back to. Peter will be glad, Stiles knows. They part with an emotional goodbye every time Stiles prepares to leave for shore, as though it’s the last time every time. Claudia’s death proves that it could be.

He always goes back to that same rocky cove where he has the perfect hiding place for his skin, in the spot where he keeps clothes to put on once he takes his human form. His car keys are in the pocket of his jeans and the jeep is through the woods in a spot where his Sheriff father ensures it will never be towed away. He’ll have to retire soon, Stiles knows. He wonders what happens then.

It’s summer as he walks through the trees, sunlight shimmering through gaps in green leaves, birds singing at the tops of their lungs, mosquitos trying to suck his blood. The mood of the scene settles into his bones. It always does. The sea never changes. The land is a constant merry-go-round.

He spends the weekend with his father, catching up, reconnecting, remembering who he was. It’s always tempting to stay but as much as he loves his dad, he knows where he belongs. Peter is waiting for him out past the point where the waves break. It’s the only place Stiles wants to be, yearning for it deep in his bones even after such a short space of time.

He returns his jeep to the spot in the woods, walking through the trees as the sound of the sea gets closer and closer, readying him for transformation. He climbs over the sharp rocks to the spot where his skin is kept safe, but his hand finds nothing but hard stone. His stomach drops. He leans over, practically turning himself upside down in the small space. It’s empty.

“Looking for this?”

Stiles rights himself so quickly he smashes his head on the rocks. He winces, pain shooting through his skull. Across the rocks is an old man, cruel looking, Stiles’ skin draped over his shoulder like some kind of accessory. No one’s ever touched his skin apart from his parents when he was too little to handle it by himself. Watching this stranger treat it with so little respect makes him curl his hands into fists.

“You’re the hunter,” he says. He’s heard Peter’s stories so many times, warnings not to go to shore, and he’s sure that this is the man. It has to be.

“If I were a hunter, wouldn’t I have killed you by now?” the man asks calmly. “I just want to talk, Stiles.”

Stiles feels every hair on his weak, human body stand on end. “How do you know my name?”

“You’re the Sheriff’s son,” the man says. “It’s not that complicated.”

Stiles swallows uneasily. This man has been watching him. He has the upper hand. “What do you want?” Stiles asks.

“I want you to come with me,” the man says.

Stiles shakes his head. “I’m going to the sea. Give me back my skin.”

“I’m an old man,” he states. “I have different priorities now. If I wanted to hurt you, you wouldn’t be standing right now, I assure you. But my concern is with my legacy. I don’t have a selkie. If you’re good, maybe I’ll let you go when I’m done with you.”

Stiles feels the fear make his body unresponsive, the exact opposite of what he needs. He looks out towards the sea. Peter is far out but he’s there. Would he hear Stiles if he called? Would he dare to come?

“I’ll kill him if he comes near,” the man warns. “He got away once, he won’t do it again.”

Stiles turns to face him, tears filling his eyes. He knows everything. There’s no safe places left.

“Come along, Stiles,” the man says, turning and walking away with Stiles’ skin. What option does Stiles have but to follow?

“I’m Gerard Argent,” the man says once they’re driving out of town. “I come from a family of hunters but I promise you I will die the gold standard. Nobody is going to forget my name.” He turns to look at Stiles, a smirk playing grotesquely over his features. “Your selkie mate never did, did he?”

Stiles shakes his head despite himself. If he makes it through this, Stiles is certain he never will either.

Gerard takes him far out of town on winding roads, up into the mountains. It’s the furthest Stiles has ever been from home, from the sea. He can feel himself withering. They come to a remote cabin and Gerard gets out of the car, dragging Stiles’ skin from the trunk. He doesn’t stop to see if Stiles is following. He’s tied to him now.

The cabin is lined with mountain ash, Stiles can feel it as soon as he steps through the door. Gerard leads him to a room in the back, one with recreational equipment for every season. Against one wall is a chest and Stiles can tell that’s mountain ash too. Gerard opens it up and inside, mountain ash powder filled halfway. Stiles’ heart sinks. He knows what comes next.

Gerard heaves Stiles’ skin into the box, the mountain ash sticking to it already. Stiles feels sick. Gerard reaches onto a shelf, taking down a large container and unscrewing the lid. More mountain ash. Stiles can’t look but he can’t not. His skin is covered in another layer of that wicked power, buried beneath it. Gerard slams the lid of the chest closed, giving Stiles a self-satisfied look.

“Now we can get to work.”

Stiles refuses to talk. Gerard wants to build the perfect bestiary, wants his name passed down by generations of hunters for putting together the most comprehensive guide to supernatural creatures. He wants their strengths and their weaknesses. He wants their habits and their quirks and their mating rituals. He wants to know how much it hurts to be out of his skin for so long.

Stiles knows what this will be used for. The effective killing of his kind. He doesn’t help, not even when the ache of being kept in this form reaches right down to his bones and he feels like he might shatter. He’s weak. He’s pining for his mate. He feels like he’s drowning on land and only the cool water of the sea will let him finally breathe.

Gerard doesn’t live at the cabin with him. He makes regular visits, brings him supplies of nothing but seafood like he’s mocking him, sits down with his notebooks and research and asks questions that he must know by now Stiles won’t answer. Stiles has never been without his skin for this long though. He wonders if there comes a point where it’s terminal. Would he sell out his own kind just for the possibility of saving himself?

Whenever Gerard leaves he scatters mountain ash in the doorway to seal Stiles in, just in case he gets any ideas about going for help. Stiles wouldn’t make it. He’s always been slow on his feet and they’re a long way from town, from his dad, from the sea and Peter. He feels like he’s drying up more every day. In the water he’s beauty and grace. No one he went to high school with would believe that. This human body is so clumsy and flawed.

Stiles watches through the window as the scenery shifts around him. It’s been so long since he’s seen the changing of the seasons. The leaves turn to fire on the trees and his dad will be expecting him soon. When he doesn’t come, will he worry and come to look for him, or will he just assume he’s finally outgrown his human form? That he’s outgrown him. The thought breaks Stiles’ heart.

He thinks of the sea, of Peter waiting out there past the break, but Peter knows the dangers of the land, he won’t expect Stiles back. He’ll stay far from land for the rest of his life and probably never meet another selkie again. When Stiles met him, he used to swim with real seals. It’s such a sad image thinking of him resorting to that again. No one to talk to. No one to understand him.

To get himself through, Stiles like to imagine Peter fighting for him, finally brave enough to step back onto land for something he loves. He’ll meet Stiles’ dad on the rocks where he’s been waiting for Stiles every day since his visit was overdue and they’ll team up, they’ll find him, they’ll kick down that door. His dad can save his skin. He can give him back to Peter.

He doesn’t want that though. He doesn’t want them in danger. He wants Peter to stay in the sea and he wants his dad to finally retire and maybe move away. He’d like it up here in the mountains. He never really liked to swim anyway.

Stiles clings to that image of Peter and his dad when Gerard is questioning him though. He wants Peter to have revenge. A life for so many lives. He deserves it. In all these years, he’s never seen Peter’s human form and so he doesn’t quite know what to imagine but he’s sure he’d be beautiful. There’s no way he couldn’t be.

When someone finally comes through that door who’s not Gerard, it’s a girl around his age. She carelessly kicks free the mountain ash barrier than Gerard laid in the doorway the day before, frowning down at the dust. Stiles could get out. Not without his skin though.

She looks up and gives a little yelp when she sees Stiles sitting there on the couch, reading a book. It’s about werewolves. There are so many strange things in this world.

She reaches into her purse, fumbling, and Stiles just stares at her, bemused, as she eventually produces a can of pepper spray, brandishing it uncertainly. Stiles feels himself relax. Whoever this girl is, she’s definitely not a hunter.

“What are you doing in my grandpa’s cabin?” she demands.

“Your grandpa’s holding me hostage,” Stiles says plainly. “He won’t let me leave.”

She frowns, looking around warily before her eyes focus back on him. “Are you squatting? Homeless?”

“Held hostage,” Stiles says again. “By your grandpa.”

She lowers the pepper spray, more out of confusion than purpose. She’d be so easy to take out if Stiles didn’t need her. He can’t truly escape without her help though.

“My name is Stiles,” he says. “I’m a selkie.”

“You’re a what?” she asks.

“A selkie,” Stiles says. “A shapeshifter. I can take on the form of a seal.”

“Prove it,” she says.

“I can’t,” Stiles says. “Your grandpa took my skin. If you give it back to me, I’ll show you.”

She considers him for a moment, still standing in the open doorway. “You’re a shapeshifter?” she asks uncertainly.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. “A selkie. You can look it up in pretty much any of these books.” He gestures at the bookcase beside him. He looks at her, imploring. “What’s your name?”

She looks like she definitely doesn’t trust him, but she’s also not calling the cops or running away. “Allison.”

“I need your help, Allison,” Stiles says. Humans like their names. They mean so much to them. Peter told Stiles his almost as an afterthought.

Allison sighs, closing the door behind herself. She walks over to the bookcase. “I’ve read every one of these books,” she says. “When I was little, I’d sit on my grandpa’s knee and he’d read them to me. My mom used to smile but my dad always hated it. I thought they were just stories. I thought he was a little weird for having so many of them, but they’re just stories, right? Harmless.” She looks at Stiles. “I hadn’t seen him since I was a kid. We moved back to Beacon Hills a few months ago when he got sick. I’m not so sure they’re stories anymore.”

“They’re not,” Stiles says.

Allison looks down at the floor as though she’s ashamed of herself. “I’m not so sure he’s a good man anymore.”

“He’s not,” Stiles agrees.

Allison looks up at him. “How do I help?”

Stiles gets to his feet, leading her through to the junk room. He gestures to the chest. “That’s mountain ash. I can’t touch it. He put my skin inside.”

Allison steps over cautiously, reaching out a tentative hand as though she expects to get a shock. She’s doing it so slowly that Stiles almost expects it too. Her hand makes contact though and she flips up the lid. Gerard never even bothered to lock it. She stares at the powder inside and raises an eyebrow at Stiles.

“It’s underneath,” he says. “He buried it.”

She doesn’t look happy about it but Allison reaches a hand into the powder, sinking through the black grains. She recoils when she feels his skin and Stiles suddenly feels naked and exposed. She composes herself and pushes the mountain ash to the sides to see what she’s dealing with. Stiles peers in as well, needing to see what condition it’s in. It’s dry but it looks undamaged. He watches as she digs it out, finally heaving it free. She offers it to Stiles but he takes a step back.

“I still can’t touch it,” he says. “Can you wash it for me?”

He feels bad watching her struggling up the stairs with it. He stands in the bathroom doorway as she lays it in the tub, taking down the showerhead and starting to rinse it off. As the water pours over it, his skin begins to shine again, wet and smooth and beautiful. It’s all he can do not to dive right into it. He’s missed it so much. This isn’t the place though. He needs to get out of here before Gerard comes back. He needs to get to the sea.

“Can you give me a ride?” he asks Allison as he hugs his skin in his arms.

“Where do you need to go?” she asks.

“There’s a place,” Stiles says. “Do you promise not to tell anyone?”

Allison nods. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

Stiles should have her drop him off in the woods but for some reason he lets her walk to the cove with him. It feels like the least he can do. She’s discovering a whole new world, one where the bad guys aren’t always who you think, but one with wonders that he wants her to be able to appreciate.

He strips without shame, just like he did that first time in front of Claudia when he was just a toddler, but this time it’s out of his human clothes. He stashes them in his safe spot and lays out his skin before looking up at Allison.

“Can you do me a favour?” he asks. “Can you give a message to my dad?”

“I don’t know your dad,” she points out.

“He’s the Sheriff,” Stiles says. “Can you tell him I lost my skin and I found it but now I need to stay away for a little while. I’ll come back. Tell him I’ll be back. When it’s safe.”

“I’ll tell him,” Allison promises. “And I’ll make sure it’s safe.”

Stiles nods. He’s not sure how she’s going to do that, but he believes her.

He picks up his skin, stepping into it and pulling it up around him, cocooning himself in cool sleekness. He settles into it like a glove, finally feeling whole again. He looks up at Allison, giving a joyful little bark, and she grins at him, her hands clasped in front of her, overcome and joyous.

Stiles turns, diving into the water, his body so utterly at peace. He swims out to where Peter always waits, knowing he won’t be there, it’s been so long, but he sees a shadow beyond the waves. He swims faster, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Peter. He’s here. He waited for him.

A sarcastic little voice wants to tell Peter what an idiot he is, that he should have kept himself safe, but he’s too overjoyed to do anything but barrel straight into Peter with a happy little chirp, both of them swimming around one another, their bodies sliding together.

“You’re late,” Peter says dryly.

Stiles grins at him but it soon fades away because he can see how truly worried Peter was. He must have thought he was alone all over again. Stiles bumps his nose against Peter’s.

“It was Gerard,” he says. “But I made a friend. I think she’s going to help us.”

“You shouldn’t trust humans,” Peter says grimly.

“I was raised by humans,” Stiles points out.

Peter swims around Stiles, nuzzling around his whole body, making sure he’s safe, marking him with his scent. Stiles floats and lets him, bumping their noses together whenever he can. Once Peter is satisfied he presses their bodies together, skin sliding against skin.

“We should have pups,” he says. “So that when you inevitably get yourself killed by trusting the wrong person, I’ll have something left.”

“I always come back,” Stiles says.

“You nearly didn’t,” Peter says.

“But I did,” Stiles insists. He presses his nose against Peter. “We could still have pups though. So long as you don’t scare them with horror stories.”

“So long as you don’t take them to land,” Peter counters.

“I’m going to,” Stiles says. “When it’s safe.”

“Then their bedtime stories will involve the massacre of my family,” Peter says.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You’re such a drama queen.”

He sideswipes Peter, making him roll in the water, and then he sets off, cutting through the water as quickly as he can. His body is like beauty in motion through the waves. Peter gives chase, making him tickle with anticipation, and Stiles thinks about how much fun it would be to do this as a family.


End file.
